


Amo, Amare, Amavi, Amatus

by KivrinEngle



Series: Amo, Amas, Amat [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Human Disaster John Laurens, M/M, Past Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29015745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivrinEngle/pseuds/KivrinEngle
Summary: Set after the conclusion of Ordo Amoris, because the author cannot leave well enough alone. A series of standalone stories about love in the wake of hard things, and finding who you are meant to be, and dealing with the fact that nothing ever actually works out right because the world is hard and messy, and making it work nonetheless.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Series: Amo, Amas, Amat [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128641
Comments: 48
Kudos: 61





	1. One

Alexander Hamilton is never going to win the Boyfriend of the Year award. It’s a sobering truth, but one he has to admit to himself in the privacy of his own mind. It’s not that he doesn’t try, of course, and it’s certainly not for lack of love. It’s just - he gets busy, caught up in a thousand different things that all scream for his full attention, and sometimes he loses track of things. Usually it’s just little things that don’t really matter, like eating regular meals or remembering to sleep, but sometimes it’s more than that.

And he’s got every excuse in the book this time, if he cared to pull them out and use them. He and Eliza Schuyler have been up to their necks in planning demonstrations in favor of the new equality measures that are about to be voted on in Congress, and there are a thousand things to be written, and that’s before he even gets into any of his classwork. So, it’s not really a surprise, even if it ought to be, that it takes Alex a lot longer than it should to notice when John...goes away.

He doesn’t really go anywhere, of course, which is another point in Alex’s favor in his mental list of reasons that he’s not the world’s WORST boyfriend. Heaven forbid John Laurens ever do anything quite that simple. He’s still there, sharing the cramped, slightly mildewy little house that the Washingtons have rented for the whole crowd that year, taking more than his fair share of turns cooking dinner for everyone and looking after his younger siblings with an alarming proficiency that spoke to his years of experience as their primary caregiver. John goes to his classes and does his homework and bullies the kids into doing theirs, and is, in general, the annoyingly perfect linchpin in Alex’s cobbled-together existence.

But he goes away, quietly and gradually, over the course of a few weeks in the middle of fall semester, and Alex doesn’t notice until it’s almost too late.

Because he failed to notice it at the time, it’s hard, in retrospect, to figure out exactly when things started going wrong. Looking back, there’s not a point he can put a finger on - just a gradual quieting, from John and from his younger siblings. Mary and Martha and Jemmy don’t suffer any obvious changes in behavior, but they stop being quite so present, in a way. John’s got a way of raising an eyebrow at them, or something - maybe it’s literally telepathy? - but it quiets them at once, even Jemmy in mid-sentence, which wasn’t something Alex was aware anyone could do. It doesn’t happen often enough for Alex to really notice - but Laf does, of course.

Lafayette is preternaturally gifted in the area of interpersonal relations. He notices everything, and pays attention to everyone, and is probably never going to get over the delight of getting to play somewhat-uncle to John’s kids. Herc accuses him of being a terrible influence - but, then, Alex is well aware that Herc keeps sneaking junk food into their lunches that John has no idea about, so he doesn’t really have the right to say anything.

Laf brings it up on a Wednesday - of course, because Wednesday is always Alex’s busiest day, and everything is legally required to fall apart on Wednesdays, he’s sure. His mostly-brother doesn’t bother to say hello or anything, dropping down to sprawl elegantly over the ratty couch where Alex is trying to lay out plans for his next six years of studies. (It’s his break from actual work. Relaxing.)

“Why do you suppose,” Laf asks casually, crushing Alex’s junior and senior years down the back of the couch with a careless elbow, “our little pack of stray Laurens have suddenly taken to vanishing?”

“Huh?” Alex says intelligently. He shoves at Laf, trying to dislodge him, but it’s no use. His strength is in his force of will and intellect, Alex knows. His actual muscles are a bit on the puny side.

“It’s 4:15, Alexander,” Laf points out. “By this time, Jemmy should be climbing the walls and telling us all the details of his day without taking a breath. Remarkable achievement, of course, if somewhat terrifying to witness. But where is our young daredevil, I ask you?”

Alex blinks, coming fully back to the present. It’s true. The house is strangely silent - no chatter of ten-year-old excitement, no shared laughter over something only the twins seem to understand the humor in - and no John asking them about school, or chasing Jemmy down to wrestle with him good-naturedly, or pestering Alex about the last time he ate. “Huh,” he says again, putting down his laptop and focusing. “That’s weird.”

“You truly have a gift with words,” Laf says, rolling his eyes.

“They were here this morning, right?” Alex asks, trying to remember that dark and terrible time before coffee. “I know they were.”

“Here, yes,” Laf agrees. “But so quiet, you would hardly have known it. And at dinner last night.”

“Huh,” Alex says again, thinking backwards. He does remember that they’d all eaten together, like the weird little family they’ve somehow become in the few months since Henry Laurens had vanished from their lives; he remembers them being there, because Herc had nearly strangled himself minding his language in front of the kids. But had any of them said a word? That, he can’t recall. And now they’re all missing.

His phone is in his hand before rational thought can interfere, and he dashes off a text to John. _where are you guys?_ If the kids are gone, than John must be with them, he knows. He doesn’t let them out of eyesight except when absolutely necessary, as if somehow his father’s arms could be long enough to reach out from prison and snatch them away from him. They don’t talk about it, not much, but Alex does get it. He’s got a drawer full of secret food he doesn’t tell anyone else about, for similar reasons. Trauma is a tricky thing.

John texts back right away. _I just took the kids to the park for a bit to run off some energy._

“See?” Alex demands, shoving the phone at Laf. “They went to the park! That’s totally normal!”

“Oh, yes,” Laf says, getting up in one unfairly graceful motion and leaving the room, with a pointed glance at the chilly rain falling from the heavy grey sky. “Absolutely normal.”

Alex wants to obsess over it, to pick at all the weird details of whatever is going on, but it is Wednesday, and he’s got approximately a thousand things due. He’s sucked back in by his workload in no time, and if he doesn’t see John and the kids before he has to head out to meet Eliza for their planning meeting for the next week’s protests, it doesn’t fully sink into his mind.

It takes a few more days, actually, though it’s hard to admit it to himself in retrospect, before he really notices. It’s not his fault - just a crazy week in the middle of a crazy semester, and the monumental achievement of the equality bill preparing to pass, after all the work and sacrifice that’s gone into it - well, it’s distracting. And, to be fair, John is apparently crazy good at the disappearing act. He vanishes in plain sight, along with the kids, and some mornings they’re all gone before Alex even wakes up, with only a suspiciously tidy kitchen to show that they’d been there at all. It isn’t until the weekend that Alex really wakes up enough to take notice, and that’s when he starts to get worried.

He doesn’t see John all weekend. Alex knows he’s in the house, a lot of the time, but he never seems to be in any of the rooms where Alex expects, even when he goes looking. Mary and Martha and Jemmy flit through like quiet, nervous butterflies - and that starts sending up red flags for Alex. He hasn’t seen any of them so skittish for a while.

He needs to find John.

Eventually, he works out that if he tails Jemmy, he’ll eventually find John. It works - and then he’s got more red flags popping up everywhere, because John is kind of a mess. His hair is wilder than he usually wears it, barely pulled back from his face, and he looks startled to see Alex.

“Hey,” John says, grabbing Jemmy’s shoulder gently and putting the little boy behind him. “What’s up?”

Alex frowns. “All the usual nonsense,” he says, keeping his voice light. There’s a tension in the air that he doesn’t like at all. “You?”

“We’re just headed out,” John says.

“We are?” Jemmy asks, peeking around his brother, and John gives him one of those looks that’s probably telepathy. Jemmy straightens up and goes quiet, and starts putting on his shoes.

“Yeah,” John says, smiling at Alex. “Library trip. Gotta keep these guys in reading materials.” He shoots off a quick text from his phone, and the sudden scuffle of feet overhead warns Alex that the twins are incoming. “Anything we can pick up for you?” He’s already turned for the door, propelling Jemmy ahead of him.

“No,” Alex says slowly, with something cold crawling down his back. “Thanks, though.”

John’s out the door with all three of the younger kids in front of him, and he shoots the same smile back over his shoulder on the way out. Alex waits until the door closes to let out an expletive. He hasn’t seen John look like that in a very long time - that frozen, polite expression that he always wore at his father’s political events.

Something is very wrong.

~~~~~

It’s Monday when it all falls apart - which destroys Alex’s theory about Wednesdays, but that’s the least of his worries. He’s in a state, worried about John, trying to work out what the hell could possibly be going on, and overthinking a dozen ways to try to engage his boyfriend in conversation deeper than the polite platitudes that are all he’s been able to get out of John for the past few days. Even the early morning news of the bill’s passage does nothing to lift his sprites. He’s worried enough that he does something he almost never allows himself to even think of: he skips class.

It’s a boring class anyway. He could teach it himself, with his eyes shut. Still, Alexander Hamilton doesn’t cut classes - except in emergency situations, and he’s decided this counts. He stalks the few blocks from campus in a foul mood, made worse by foul weather, and considers calling George or Martha Washington for advice. He’s in such a distracted mood that he hardly notices the front door is unlocked.

Something hits the floor in the living room with a crash, and Alex glances up in time to see John, looking guilty and almost - well, scared.

“What the hell?” Alex asks. There’s a shattered coffee mug on the floor, and John is on his feet, clutching the TV remote in both hands as though it were a murder weapon.

“Nothing,” John says, voice careful and polite, his slight southern accent stronger than Alex has heard it in a while. “What - what are you doing home? I thought you had class?”

“Skipped it,” Alex says carefully. He drops his bag, and something twists in his stomach when John flinches at the sound. “Are you ok?”

“Fine,” John says cheerfully. His eyes are very wide. He puts the remote in his back pocket, as though it were a phone. “Actually, I need to go-”

“No, wait!” Alex says, a little more fiercely than he means to. He’s getting scared, unable to figure out what’s going on. It feels like things are slipping away faster than he can hold onto them, and he doesn’t have a clue why. John freezes. “What’s going on?” he asks, trying to gentle his tone. “What’s wrong?” Somehow, it feels like he’s trying to talk to a wounded creature, and he doesn’t have the first clue what’s wrong. John’s eyes flicker toward the television for a moment, then back to Alex.

“I don’t know what you mean,” John says, calm and composed, and smiles again, a desperate sort of look that begs Alex to close his mouth and play along. Alex nods slowly, and walks into the room, doing his best to look unimposing, unthreatening, to telegraph his every move. He’s learned this dance, even if he doesn’t know all the steps by heart. He hits the power button on the TV, and John suddenly throws out a hand, tries to impose himself in front of the screen.

“Don’t-” he says - but it’s too late. The screen flickers to life, and the sound clicks on.

Alex couldn’t have said what he thought John had been watching, to leave him looking so guilty, but if he’d had to guess for a hundred years, he’d never have gotten it right.

It’s just the news. Cable news, covering the passage of the new equality bill, and showing footage of the joyful reactions in the streets from people who had been gathered in support of the bill. It’s a huge step forward, one that Alex and Eliza and millions of others have fought for; for a moment, he wishes he were out there with the crowds, waving a flag. The screen is filled with rainbow flags and hand-lettered signs, scenes of people celebrating as the talking heads natter on about progress, and Alex is more confused than ever.

He looks at John, standing stock still, and John flinches, as if he’s expecting to be struck.

Realization floods over Alex, sudden and sickening, and he lets out his breath in a long, slow exhalation, forcing himself not to shout or do anything sudden. “You want to turn that off?” he asks, slow and gently, and John looks as if he’s going to shake apart, immediately shutting off the coverage and then backing away. He’s watching Alex, eyes wide, but somehow Alex is horribly certain that he’s not who John is seeing.

Alex makes himself move slowly, going to the couch and sitting down, making himself smaller, quieter, calmer. John doesn’t move.

“I wasn’t,” he says after a moment. His voice is very quiet. “I just wanted.”

“It’s OK,” Alex says, doing his best to smile, even as his stomach is turning somersaults. “There’s nothing wrong with watching the news, right?”

John manages to make eye contact, for a moment, and some of the fear turns to bewilderment. “Right,” he agrees, sounding uncertain.

Alex waits a minute. He’s not good at this, at knowing what to say in these moments where the past rears up to attack them. He knows trauma, knows it down in his bones - but they carry different burdens, Alex and John, and it’s not always clear how he can help. He lets out a slow, deep breath. “Your father,” he says gently, trying his best to get John to meet his eyes again. “Your father is going to be in prison until he’s too old and senile to remember what LGBTQ stands for, if indeed he ever knew.” John rocks back a little on his heels, face still unnaturally pale, so that his freckles stand out more than ever. “No-one has to give a damn what he would think about this. Not now, not ever again.”

“He always says,” John starts, and Alex shakes his head.

“Who cares?” John looks bewildered at his words, and Alex presses on. “He’s not in charge anymore. Not of politics, or news coverage, and certainly not of you.”

“He fought against this for years,” John says, voice still strangely distant. Alex makes himself wait. “I always knew if it passed, he would-” he stops again, and looks at Alex, as if finally seeing him. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?” John’s question is oddly childlike, with a note of fragility that he never lets anyone hear.

“No, it doesn’t.”

John takes a step forward, still looking lost. “I know that,” he says carefully. “I do, Alex. Please don’t look at me like I’m crazy.”

“I’m not!” Alex protests, putting up his hands in self-defense. “I’d never think that.”

John gives a little laugh, desolate and self deprecating. “I’ve been acting like it though, haven’t I?” He comes closer still, until he’s perching on the far end of the couch. “Like he could still reach out and hurt us, just because he didn’t like the headlines.”

“That’s why you guys have been missing in action all week?” Alex asks, and John averts his gaze, nodding.

“I was always good at keeping them out of the way,” John says quietly. “Making sure they didn’t say anything at the wrong times. I guess it’s hard to shake the habit.”

Alex wants to scoot over and grab John, to wrap his arms around him, to assure him that he’s safe, that his beloved siblings are safe, and that nothing is ever going to threaten them again. But that’s not about John - it’s about Alex, and what he wants. He sits still, maintaining space, keeping calm. He’s getting better about knowing how to help, he thinks.

“And you?” Alex asks. John’s breathing a bit more steadily now, and he’s lost the terror in his eyes that makes Alex want to commit murder.

John shrugs, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Alex. I know better, honestly. It’s not like I’d get in trouble for watching the news or anything, I know - not here, not now, but sometimes it-” he breaks off, looking away.

Alex waits for a minute, and then looks up at the ceiling, directing his words there. “I know you’ve noticed how I freak out during every damn thunderstorm that this state throws at us,” he says. He doesn’t want to look at John right now, to see anything like pity in his expression. “Doesn’t matter that it’s nothing like the hurricane. I still feel that same fear, like watching our roof be torn off, and knowing for sure that I’m going to die, even when it’s nothing more than a few flashes of thunder in the sky here. Doesn’t mean I’m crazy.”

“It’s not the same thing,” John protests. In an instant he’s next to Alex, grabbing his arm reassuringly. “After what you lived through, of course you’re going to have trouble with flashbacks now and then! Nobody would ever think you’re crazy.”

Alex smiles, and puts his free hand over John’s. “And you’ve made my argument for me, Laurens. That’s exactly what I was going to tell you.”

John opens his mouth to protest, and then shuts it again, looking rebellious. “Still not the same thing,” he says, with something almost like a pout, and Alex breathes a sigh of relief. It’s like watching John come back out of hiding, out of the shell he’s constructed for his own safety over time. John winds his fingers through Alex’s, and they sit quietly for a long moment. “I hate it,” John murmurs. “I hate that he can always make me feel like I’m five years old, cowering in a corner. Even when he’s locked up.”

“It’ll get better with time and distance,” Alex promises, with all the assurance of having lived through it himself. “It will. And until then-” he reaches up with his free hand, touching John’s cheek gently and turning him to face Alex directly. “Maybe you can let me help you remember?”

“Maybe,” John says. He watches Alex with eyes that are painfully tired, now that the fear has drained away, but he’s peaceful now. “I don’t want to always be living in his shadow.”

“You won’t.” Alex manages to find a smile, somewhere, and it almost feels genuine. He puts away the roaring anger, saving it for another time. He’ll channel it into his writing, his advocacy; he’ll make use of it, to help topple everything that Henry Laurens ever stood for.

John grins back - a real, genuine smile, at last - and Alex lets himself relax a bit. Maybe Boyfriend of the Year isn’t such an impossible dream, at that.


	2. Two

Alex is overwhelmed. 

This is probably evident to everyone. It is extremely evident to John.

He’s good at reading people, at gauging stress levels, at guessing at when things will come to a head and fall apart. Alex, he figures, probably has about another week. 

He’s taking way too many classes, for one thing. The entire summer, full of activity as it had been, had stressed Alex out because he felt like he wasn’t doing enough, and so he had loaded up his schedule with a full eighteen credits. And on top of that, John knows he has private tutoring sessions with multiple professors who are all eager to work with a mind like his. All of that, alone, would be too much.

But this is Alex, who has never encountered the idea of moderation, and so there’s more. He and Eliza Schuyler have continued and even expanded their political advocacy. There’s hardly a weekend where they’re not protesting for something, or doing voter registration drives, or collecting signatures for petitions. 

And then there’s his visa, which John knows Alex would still rather no-one knew was an issue. He and George are still trying to sort that out, which seems to involve a ridiculous amount of paperwork and fees with no forward progress ever in sight. 

So, yeah. Alex is stressed. He’s in full workaholic mode most of the time, sleeping the absolute minimum he can get by on and always, always writing something. It’s sort of scary to watch, and John does his best to support him and encourage him to take breaks, to come to campus events with the rest of them, and makes it a point to drag him to Taco Pierre’s at least once a week for the requisite food poisoning. And somehow, they do still manage to spend time together. Time is a very strange thing. 

But when John overhears Alex talking to the Washingtons on the phone, he finally decides it’s gone too far. 

“No,” Alex is saying as John does his best to wrestle a mountain of Jemmy’s clothes into his little brother’s drawers. “I’m sorry, really, but I just can’t make it this year.” A pause, and a sigh, and Alex drums his fingers on his laptop. “I know. Believe me. Thanksgiving is my favorite, you know it, but - there’s just too much to do here right now for me to take that much of a break and come home.”

John manages to get the drawers to close and looks around the room. Jemmy’s been complaining about not being able to find any of his school books, and it’s suddenly clear exactly why that is. The ten-year-old has had a hard time adjusting to having his entire life upended, and he really isn’t used to living in the tiny little room that’s his own space in the house. He’s lucky, actually - he’s the only one with his own bedroom, but there’s not an inch of floor space to be seen. John makes a mental note that they’re going to have to tackle that over the weekend, and slips out, trying to be quiet enough not to disturb Alex’s conversation in their shared bedroom next door. 

“Don’t tell Martha that!” Alex objects to something George has said, and sighs again. “Look, I’d be home if I could, I swear. And I will be home for Christmas - at least for part of the time. But I have responsibilities here, too.” He sounds so sad about it, though, so disappointed, that John’s heart aches. One way or another, he’s going to get Alex to stick to a more reasonable schedule in the spring semester. 

“No, definitely,” Alex says. “I miss you guys, too.” He hesitates just a moment. “Love you,” he mutters. It’s hard for Alex to put that in words, and John grins a little as he makes his way to the kitchen. It’s a Friday afternoon, less than two weeks before Thanksgiving, and Jemmy and the twins should be home any moment. John runs through his mental to-do list, trying to to flinch at how long it’s gotten. He’s got exams coming up in two of his classes, a paper due on Monday, and he’s missed more discussion sections than he’d like to admit, so his grades in a few of his classes aren’t what they should be, and that’s starting to matter with the end of the semester in sight. 

John opens the fridge and stares inside, giving a sigh so deep it almost hurts. There’s next to nothing he can turn into a healthy dinner, and they’ve gone to Taco Pierre’s twice already that week, so he has to do something he can at least pretend is healthy. Mary’s gone vegetarian in the last month, though, and he’s still trying to figure out how to cook for that, and he’s put off going to the grocery store for too long. 

“Don’t let the fridge eat you alive,” Alex warns, squeezing the back of his neck and shoulders with hands that seem to know exactly where he’s carrying too much stress. John laughs a little.

“There’s definitely something living in here,” he says drily, retreating. “I swear things vanish faster than we can put them in it!”

Alex nods agreement. “I know people always say kids eat a lot, but I had no clue,” he says, sounding awed. “I don’t think I ate anything like that!”

“You still eat like that!” John objects, laughing. “Alex, you ate a whole pizza on Tuesday, and I don’t know that you even really noticed.”

“Tuesday was a lot of day,” Alex grumbles good naturedly. “I can make a grocery run, though, if we’re running low.”

It’s tempting to take him up on the offer - but they both know how impossibly overworked he is. John grins at him and lifts Alex’s hand, turning it around to show them both the long list he’s written on his skin - enough to keep him busy for days on end. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full,” he says, and plants a kiss on Alex’s forehead when he rolls his eyes. “I’ll go this weekend,” John tells him. 

“What, between your homework and theirs?” Alex asks, boosting himself up to sit on the counter, legs swinging. Sometimes John thinks he likes to get up higher so as to feel taller. “And what about therapy, John? Weren’t you supposed to start this week?”

John turns away to unload their crappy little dishwasher, not looking at Alex. “I will,” he says. “I had an appointment to meet someone this week, but I had to cancel when I got called in to the highschool. I’ll remake it for after the holiday.”

Alex sighs, and John sends a silent prayer up to heaven that he won’t start in on him about therapy again. John is perfectly well aware that he ought to be in therapy, that he’s come nowhere near to dealing with all the issues that the past - well, lifetime - have brought up for him. He just doesn’t have time. 

And it wasn’t like he could have avoided the call to the girls’ school. Martha had been in the middle of a panic attack. He was not about to be anywhere else at that moment.

Fortunately, as he can hear Alex marshalling his arguments in his head, the door bangs open with far too much energy, and Jemmy comes rushing in, followed at a more sedate pace by his twin sisters. Jemmy whoops with excitement to see Alex, free of books at the moment, and drops his backpack to fling himself on Alex’s back in a demand for a piggyback ride that he knows will not be denied.

“How was school?” John asks, and Jemmy groans. 

“Sooooo boring! They make me sit all the time!” 

“That’s because they’re training you to be a specialized cog in the capitalist economy,” Alex says brightly, taking Jemmy on a ride through the lower level of their house. “Gotta teach you to do as you’re told and jump when a bell rings so that you don’t go getting dangerous ideas!”

“Could we save the radicalization for after snacktime?” Mary asks, kissing John’s cheek as she pushes him gently out of the way. “I swear they think vegetarian means we only eat salads, ever. I’m starving!” 

Martha has taken a seat at the table, staring unhappily at her hands, and John sits beside her. He’s starting to get worried about her. “How’d it go today?” he asks quietly. She’s obviously doing her best not to cry.

“I’m not going back there,” she says, shaking her head. “Not ever, Jacky.”

“What happened?” John asks, startled. Martha presses her lips together, and Mary fills him in.

“Some of the popular girls worked out exactly which Laurens family we are - thanks to the recent press coverage, I’m sure. A few of them are trying to make things difficult for us.”

“You didn’t hit anyone, did you?” John asks, suddenly concerned by the darkness in her tone and the way Mary’s eyes are narrowed. “Please tell me you didn’t hit anyone.”

“Not yet,” she says, slathers peanut butter on a stalk of celery, and bites into it with a snap that makes him start. “I’m not making any promises, though.”

“No, you need to make promises,” John says, starting to feel slightly frantic. “I really really need you not to get into any fights. And Martha, we’re going to figure this out. I promise. I’ll set up a meeting with the principal on Monday, ok? But you can’t just not go to school. You know that.”

“I never thought I’d miss Isaac and his constant tattling,” Martha says quietly. “I’d rather be back there, sometimes.”

Just the idea of that is enough to send a wave of nausea through John, and it’s good timing when Alex comes back into the kitchen and deposits Jemmy onto the ground next to John. “There, your turn,” he says, pretending to be out of breath.

John steers Jemmy to a seat and grabs him a snack, while Jemmy chatters nonstop. He’s halfway through his granola bar when Herc comes in, and they all call greetings to him. Herc, John thinks with a twinge of jealousy, looks relaxed. Well rested. Like he’s not about to fall apart at the seams. Some people have all the luck. He high-fives all the kids on the way through, then stops and looks at the cabinet, and then back at Jemmy.

“Are you eating the last of my granola bars, little man?” Herc asks, twisting his face into an exaggerated expression of annoyance. “John, are you giving away my food? What gives, man?” He puts on an affected annoyance, thumping a heavy fist against an open palm. “Are we gonna have to have words about this?”

“Herc, don’t-” John starts, shaking his head frantically; Alex curses, looks apologetic for a split second, and then curses again, grabbing Herc by the elbow and steering their much larger friend out the door.

It’s still too late. Jemmy has dropped his food and is staring at John with wide, scared eyes; Mary’s on her feet next to John, twitching with sudden nerves, and Martha has gone still and silent, eyes fixed on the table.

“Hey, hey, it’s OK,” John says as fast as he can. “It was a joke, guys. I promise. Herc’s not mad - not at me or at any of you. It’s fine, we’re all fine.”

Jemmy’s chin trembles, and he doesn’t touch the food he dropped. “Is it fine even when we go to bed?” He asks the question so quietly John can hardly hear it, and guilt hits him like a fist in the gut. “Or even school?”

“Yes,” John says firmly, taking a seat next to Jemmy at the table and motioning Mary to sit down as well. “I promise. It’s always fine here. Herc and Laf and Alex - they’re all good. They’d never, ever do anything to hurt me, or any of you. You know that, right?”

“But you always said everything was alright with Daddy, too,” Martha points out. She’s still not making eye contact. “Are you sure this time, Jacky?”

“Yes,” John says. He doesn’t let himself cry. “If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t let you be here. We’re safe, OK? I promise we are.”

By the time he’s gotten them all semi-functional again, Herc is peering around the kitchen doorframe looking so sad and bewildered that John feels guilty about that, too. The twins disappear to their room, and Jemmy begs and bugs until John reluctantly turns on the TV for him. He knows he’s not supposed to let kids have too much screen time, but he doesn’t actually know how much will damage a kid’s brain, and sometimes it seems like maybe Jemmy needs the break from reality. 

“Shit, man,” Herc mutters when he gets back to the kitchen. “I am so sorry. I didn’t even think. It’s how I tease my little cousins, you know, and I didn’t know they’d-”

“It’s fine,” John says. It isn’t, but it sure as hell isn’t Herc’s fault. “They’re still adjusting.”

“Therapy is an option for everyone,” Laf muses. John isn’t sure when he’d arrived. 

“I’m not disagreeing,” John says, feeling like he’s being pulled in a thousand directions at once. “Not even a little bit. But I’m still trying to get them settled in school, and it’s hard for them to adjust to so much all at once.” He sits down at the table again, leaning on his elbows, not looking at any of his friends. “I mean, of course it’s better this way. I’m not complaining, not at all. It’s just - it’s a lot.”

“It is,” Laf agrees. “No one could blame you, or any of them, for taking time to adjust.”

John nods, and then shudders as his phone rings. It could be anything - a social worker checking in on them, one of the kids’ teachers trying to reach him, their father trying to call from prison as he sometimes does. Whatever it is, he cannot handle it right now. “Go to voicemail,” he mutters, shoving the phone in his pocket without looking at it. “I swear, if I have to think about one more thing right now, I’m running away to the circus. It would be calmer.”

He senses Alex behind him, telegraphing his presence before he reaches out a hand to rub a comforting circle on John’s back. “No, it wouldn’t,” Alex says assuredly. “Circuses have lions and shit. Nothing is ever calmer with lions.”

John supposes he has a point.

~~~~~

Alex makes it through the next week, but John can see him fraying at the edges. On Wednesday, Laf and Herc announce that they’re going to the Mulligans’ for Thanksgiving. 

“Most of my family are great,” Hercules says with a grin. “But I’ve got this one aunt who’s just incredibly racist. Bringing Laf will send her through the roof, the hateful old biddy.”

“George and Martha will be devastated,” Alex points out, and Laf looks guilty. 

“I know. I have already made my apologies, and we will all be together at Christmas, after all!”

John suddenly gets an idea.

He corners Laf later, when Alex has gone back to the library far too late in the evening. “Hey, I was wondering,” he starts. “I guess I mean - look. Alex likes Thanksgiving, right? It’s not one of those things he has secret trauma about and avoids?”

“Oh, no,” Laf says cheerfully. “It has always been one of his favorites. Plus, an Alex surrounded by food is generally a happy Alex, you know.”

“Good,” John says, already making plans. Laf chuckles. 

“You’re up to something, my little cabbage.”

“Me?” John says innocently. “No, of course not!” Laf just laughs at him and walks away. “And I’m still not a cabbage!” he yells at Laf’s retreating back - but ruefully, because he knows he’s already lost that battle forever. 

It takes a little while to build up his nerve, but he makes a phonecall that evening, once all the kids are settled. 

“Washington,” George Washington says firmly. 

“Hi, yes,” John says stupidly, and then remembers his manners. He straightens his back and composes himself. “Senator Washington, this is John Laurens.”

“I know, John,” Washington says, sounding amused. “Your name does come up when you call me.”

“Uhh, right,” John says. Now he’s flustered again - but he’s got a job to do. “I’d like to ask you a favor, if I could - you and Mrs. Washington, as well.”

“Always,” he says easily. How is it that easy for him to be so accommodating, even though he’s a Senator, a busy man? 

“It’s about Alex,” John starts. “I know he said he’s not coming home for Thanksgiving.”

“Yes,” Washington says, sounding disappointed. “Lafayette as well. We’re in for a quiet holiday here, I think.”

“That’s what I was wondering,” John says quickly, looking around to see that he’s not being eavesdropped upon. “I wondered whether you two might consider coming up here for Thanksgiving - even just for a day or two. Alex misses you awfully, and he’s so busy all the time - I think it would do him so much good to take the day off and spend it with family.”

“Aren’t you and your lot going to be there?” Washington asks, and John nods his head. Stupidly, because he’s on an audio call, but that’s how it goes. 

“Yes,” John says slowly. “Well, sort of. We’re not leaving or anything, but I sort of think we might make ourselves scarce for the day. I think Alex could use a break from us.”

“Is everything all right?” Washington is all sudden concern, and John has to blink back tears that want to start in his eyes. “You’re not having trouble, are you?”

For just a moment, John wants to break down and tell him all of it - the school problems, and all of them dealing with trauma, and the fact that he has no clue how to be a parent to his siblings, and all the rest. The idea of setting it all down for a while and allowing someone else - someone more skilled at the art of being an adult - to just handle things is almost more than John can resist. 

But this isn’t about him, it’s about Alex. 

“No,” he says lightly. “It’s an adjustment, though. Alex isn’t used to living with a house full of kids. Everyone can use a break sometimes.”

“I’ll speak to Martha right away,” Washington promises. “But I can assure you her answer will undoubtedly be positive. We’d both love to see Alex for the holiday.”

“Oh good,” John says, a rush of relief moving through him. “Do you think we can keep it secret, though? I’d love for it to be a surprise.”

“We absolutely can,” Washington agrees. John feels much better by the time he hangs up the phone. It’s such a little thing, but it’s the best thing he can think of to give Alex.

~~~~~

He’s very very glad over the course of the next week that he’s set things in motion. Alex, always a little on the squirrelly side, is suddenly finding new kinds of insanity to partake in. He’s always gone, running weird errands, and muttering to himself over whatever he’s reading on his phone. He even misses a group meeting with Eliza, which never happens; John only knows about it because she texts him to see if he knows where Alex is.

All too often that week, though, John has no idea where his boyfriend is. They’re both caught up in the pre-holiday crush of last-minute deadlines, and John even has to carve out time to go see Jemmy’s school show. They keep missing one another. John finds himself in the absurd position of being acutely lonely, even as he is surrounded by all of his favorite people and in constant demand. He’s never actually alone; that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it, sometimes. 

Martha Washington texts him a great deal, making plans for Thanksgiving. The woman is a wonder, and has decided to descend upon Alex with an entire premade Thanksgiving feast. She and George are driving into the city on Thursday morning, and John grins at the idea that he’s going to actually be able to pull off this surprise. 

So it’s actually quite disappointing for John to wake up bright and early on Thanksgiving morning to find that Alex is already gone. Where the hell he could be, John has no idea. The library isn’t even open! Still, this is Alex. He’s probably gone to protest the inaccuracy of the historical account of the first Thanksgiving with Eliza or something. John’s done all that he can to make this work out right; now, he’s just going to have to have a little faith. 

He gets the kids up and out quickly, determined that they’re going to have some fun today, even if it kills him. Thankfully, it’s a far warmer Thanksgiving than most. He takes the kids into the heart of New York City to watch the parade. 

It’s absolutely chaotic, colorful and loud, and John has to grin at it. Thanksgiving at home was always a sober, formal occasion with everyone in their best clothes and grandest manners. Here, they can be kids for once, and enjoy the sights and sounds of the parade. Even Martha cheers up, and he catches her dancing along a little to some of the musical numbers. It’s good.

When the parade is over, he pulls them all aside and tells them his next big idea.

“So,” John says slowly. “We’ve really been pretty fortunate this year, I think. A lot of people helped us when we needed it.” They all nod agreement, and he goes on. “So I was thinking that we might spend today trying to give some of that back. How would you guys feel about helping out in a kitchen today? My friend Eliza knows a really good one that’s serving meals to people who are homeless or alone today, and she said we’d be welcome to help, if we’d like.”

Their nods of agreement are instantaneous and unhesitating, and John can’t help but be a little moved. 

“Yes,” Mary says decisively. “We’re absolutely doing that.”

“Oh, man,” Martha agrees, actually laughing. “Daddy would hate it so much if he knew what we were doing.”

“I get to give out desserts!” Jemmy shouts, already trying to pull John forward. “C’mon, Jacky, there’s work to do!” He’s pulling in the wrong direction, but it’s the thought that counts. 

They spend most of their day there, serving meals and helping clean up, and John doesn’t think he’s seen any of the kids look so content in a while. The opportunity to take a break from their own worries has clearly helped; he spends a considerable amount of time thinking of Alex, and hoping that the same might be said of him.

John winds up shoulder-deep in an endless sink of dishes, washing until his fingers are wrinkled and sore, and he can’t help but grin, thinking of how exactly right Martha is. They ought to take a picture of themselves, messy and surrounded by the homeless, just to send to their father in prison. 

He almost dies of fright when someone comes up behind him and grabs him by the shoulders, spinning him around. 

It’s Alex. 

“Laurens!” Alex growls, wild-eyed and somewhat insane-looking. “Do you have any clue how long I’ve been searching this city for you?”

John shakes himself free, looking at Alex in shock. “What are you doing here, Alex? You’re supposed to be at home, having Thanksgiving!”

“No shit, Sherlock!” Alex snaps. “And so are you! Where the hell have you been all day?”

“No, Alex, wait,” John says, starting to get concerned. “Please tell me you haven’t been wandering around all day. You were supposed to be at home, so that-”

George Washington pokes his head around the door, looking relieved. “They’re all here, son,” he calls to Alex, who seems to deflate a little in relief. 

“So that you could see George and Martha,” John finishes. 

Alex pulls his hands dramatically down the sides of his face, shaking his head. “I have called you at least two dozen times, Laurens,” he says slowly. “I thought you’d all been kidnapped or something.”

“Oops,” John says, looking down at his pocket, where he hasn’t felt his phone buzz once. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you worry. We went to the parade, and then we wanted to come and give back a little.”

“And you’d better believe I’m going to be having a word with Eliza about how long it took her to tell me I could find you here,” Alex continues. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere! You’re missing Thanksgiving!”

John shakes his head, grabbing Alex’s arm reassuringly. “I didn’t have them come for us,” he says, smiling at his poor beleaguered boyfriend, who has apparently not managed to have the relaxing holiday John had planned. “I figured giving you a break from all of our insanity, plus the opportunity to spend time with the Washingtons, was the best we could do for you this year.”

“A break,” Alex says slowly. He turns to look at George, who shrugs helplessly. “A break.”

“Yeah,” John says, now sighing heavily. “I know we’re a lot to handle, and things have been so insane recently-”

“John Laurens,” Alex says, slowly and almost dangerously. “I have spent the last three days shopping, cooking, and preparing Thanksgiving dinner. And I went to go and get you all to celebrate, and you were gone. Without a trace.”

“You what?” John asks blankly. Alex knows how to cook? “But you were so busy!”

“I’m busy?” Alex’s voice rises to an incredulous squeak. “Me? When you’re running around trying to be all things to all people, managing a thousand things at once?” John goes to speak, and Alex shakes his head. “I could see you couldn’t handle one more thing,” Alex says, now going crimson. “So I thought maybe I could do one nice thing and make Thanksgiving happen - just to be one thing you didn’t have to manage.”

“You mean you really cooked?” John asks. “Where?”

“The neighbors’ house,” Alex says, shrugging. “They went away for the week, and said I could use all their shit if I took care of their plants and stuff.”

Martha comes into the kitchen with all the kids in tow, Jemmy clinging to her waist and gazing up at her adoringly. She pushes Alex gently aside to give John a hug.

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way either of you planned,” she says, smiling at them both. “Might I suggest, for the next holiday, you both stop trying to be so selfless and actually communicate?”

“Not going to happen,” Mary and Martha say in unison, with one of their patented twin eye-rolls, and Jemmy laughs until he starts hiccoughing. From the amount of chocolate on his face and shirt, John suspects he’s had a bit more dessert than he was meant to help himself to. But it’s a holiday, and he and Alex are apparently both too stupid to live, and George and Martha are already steering them all out into the fresh air. 

“The good news,” Alex says quietly, reaching over to take John’s hand, “is that Martha brought a whole feast, too. So if everything I made is inedible, we’ve got backups.”

John laughs at that. Somehow, he knows, the Washingtons are not going to let them pull the same thing at Christmas. He’s sure they’ll all wind up at Mount Vernon together, actually relaxing and spending time together. He’ll find time to get them all help, and talk to the girls properly about school, and figure out what the hell he’s doing with his life, and force Alex to take fewer credits. They’ll figure it out. 

But for now, they’re going home to eat Thanksgiving dinner. There’s no fear or tension, no starched collars or too-tight shoes. They’re in New York City, and Jemmy is going to spend the next month howling Christmas carols in the most off-key little boy voice he can imagine. 

They’re going to be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, my lovelies! Thank you so much for your stunning kindness and enthusiasm! 
> 
> Part of the reason for my long absence was that my epileptic little girl started really, really struggling with seizures, so neither of us got any sleep for, like, three months. We're finally starting to get that under control again, which is giving me a little bit of free time and a good deal more brainpower to apply to things like writing. So fingers crossed that it remains the case, and that real life will allow me the luxury of, you know, checking out of it for very long periods of time. We all need an escape, sometimes. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy these glimpses into the world this broken little family is trying to build for itself. Nothing comes easily, but it's certainly worth fighting for. <3

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really have anything to say for myself, except that life is hard, and I have missed writing, and I have missed the lovely folks who were kind enough to read before. I'm trying to find the ability to write again after a too-long hiatus, but let's be honest, you guys know better than to expect anything like consistency from me! I may write half a million words in a month, or I may vanish again, but either way, please know that I love you all, and I do love writing (though I have clearly forgotten how, what the hell, how do you words???), and I love the stupid good boys I sometimes write about. All my very best - Kivrin.


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